The Lab
by Dapple
Summary: Three young Mice go out riding in the desert a sunny afternoon and find some old war memories.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own the concept or the characters of Biker Mice From Mars. I don't own anyone else either. I don't belive in owning people, and I would like to quote a favourite hero of mine: "Everyone was born to ride free!".  
In any case I was the one to get to know Cartridge, Brisance and Turbo first. If they choose to come visit you I would never _dream_ of stopping them. It would be fun to know what you've been doing though, if you take my hint.  
I don't make any money out of this so don't even try to pay me. That's a strict "no". Unless you come back a little later tonight through the backdoor, that is... Nah, seriously, no money made, noone belongs to me, using without permission. Just for fun.

**The Lab**

Rusty red stormclouds gathered above them and at the horizon they could see the sand that the strong winds whipped up moving towards them.

- There's no way we're ever gonna get back home before that thing hits us! Cartridge's voice crackled over the radio; "We've got to find shelter!"

Turbo shook his head irritatedly. Cart was right. The only thing was there _was_ no shelter this far out in the desert. As the thought crossed his mind the dark grey shadow that was Brisance pointed her finger, "over there", towards a peculiar bump in the terrain.

The company swered their bikes towards it and stopped on the windy side. Cartridge stepped off her bike and started walking around the small hill, her fur going tone in tone with the now whirling sand.

Turbo withdrew his visor and shouted over the howling wind;

- This is no good! Once the storm gets here we'll be ripped to shreds on this side or burried on the other! We have to find something else.

Brisance shook her head at the same time as Cart cried from the other side:

- Guys, get over here! Hustle!

When they rounded the dune they saw a gapping hole from a collapsed door opening down into darkness.

They looked at the hole. They looked at eachother. And made a quick desicion.

- Get down there! Cartridge turned and sprinted to get her bike while the others began to manouver theirs into the hole.

- Whose bright idea was this little trip? Turbo grunted, straining to stop Cartridge's blue bike from falling uncontrollably to the stonefloor. 

- YOURS! came the answer in a heartfelt corus. Turbo shook his head again.

The tunnel before them was narrow and lit only by the headlights of their bikes. They scrambled further inside as the storm hit the world outside with its full force, blowing stinging sand after them.

- Everybody OK? Turbo asked. Confirming noises were heard from the others.  
- Say T, Cartridge asked and shook some sand from he hair, "if we're stuck here anyway, can't we go a bit further in and have a look around?"

The suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm.

As they moved forward an eerie blue light appeared along the floor, leading them on. The adventurous young mice giggled nervously and pushing eachother around a bit to keep their courage up they emerged into a grand cave.

Cartridge fumbled around a bit and found the lightswitch. She turned it and after a few seconds of humming, buzzing and blinking about half of the fluorescent lamps decided to come to life and actually work.

What lay before them was a circular room lined with workbenches and tables. The most eyecatching pice of equipment was the big, cylinder-shaped device in the absolute middle of the room.

- Wow. This gotta be one of those plutarkian labs they never found during the war. Cartridge's voice ecoed in the empty room.

- Yeah, grandpa Stokes has told me about them. About two dozen times. Turbo rolled his eyes at the thought of his graying grandfather who was nowadays slipping further and further into the world of his memories.

- And that, Cartridge contionued, ignoring Turbo's comment, "must be a transporter." She stepped up to it and the brown mouse followed her suit, anxious not to miss anything.

- You think it's still working?

- Nah. Cart poked at a few lose wires hanging out the back.  
Meanwhile Brisance had begun walking around the room, curiously exmining heaps of wires, pieces of metal and plastic lying scattered on the benches and floor, poking through some scribled up papers and recoiling from what appeared to be a brain in a glass container. Syringes on a metal tray, sharp knives, containers for powders and liquids. On the wall above one desk hung a mecanical arm clutching in its metal fist what appeared to be a pair of broken field specs. A door labelled 'Storage' drew he attention. She opened it, hit the light-button and screamed.

Her two companions came running from their own private treasurehunts and looked over her shoulder.

- Oh, Holy...!

- Ewww...

- Let's get out of here! Now!

- Oh, my...

To get to know what they saw go to this place: http /ww w.deviantart. com/deviation/41401978/ (be careful to take away the spacing)

For anyone interested; Brisance it the shattering capability of an explosive. Beautiful word, chosen to honour the tradition of naming Martian Mice after bike- or weapon-related words.

Spacing is a bit wierd but wanted it that way.


End file.
